


Dying fire

by Plume_Sombre



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:06:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plume_Sombre/pseuds/Plume_Sombre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ishida however doesn’t, and has never known, how to handle Haizaki." / IshiHai.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dying fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is a fic I wrote for stephanericher's IshiHai prompt 'embers'. The result doesn't quite match it orz

Ishida doesn’t quite know how to qualify his relationship with Haizaki; ever since he met him in high school his heart’s strings have always been pulled in a strange way. For starters he didn’t expect to see him on a daily basis at the bar he is working part-time at. As a college student he needs to save up some money for future projects, and honestly working in a bar isn’t something bad. He gets to witness some interesting things, meet people—even though it’s way too often drunk talking—and run into acquaintances, like Haizaki. The guy hasn’t really changed, physically; still well-built, strong arms and hands that take the glass offered to him, hair always tied in cornrows, and a face that doesn’t seem to have softened. Ishida knows what he’s going to find in these grey eyes whenever they make eye contact: violence, scorn, but also something akin to sadness.

Ishida however doesn’t, and has never known, how to handle Haizaki.

“Today’s the third day in a row you’re drunk, Haizaki,” Ishida sighs as he confiscates the glass of alcohol. “Don’t you have a job tomorrow?”

“Shut up, ’s not your business,” Haizaki growls, but fails to look intimidating.

Ishida puts the glass in the sink, and frowns. He is pretty sure Haizaki got a full-time job somewhere, the last time they talked about it—he could never have afforded a course in university. If he didn’t know better, Ishida would have thought that Haizaki doesn’t care at all about his job.

It’s just hard to pick up the pieces he leaves behind him to fully understand what’s going on.

“Did you get fired again?” Ishida asks.

He sees a flash of anger pass through Haizaki’s eye, but decides not to comment. He needs to get the man talking, because that’s what he needs, and that’s what Ishida is good at. Making people talk.  _Drunk_  people talk.

“I thought that you were past the impulsive actions,” he says coolly.

“What makes you think  _I_  was in the wrong?” Haizaki snaps. “It’s not my fault if they can’t handle a bit of honest talking to their face!”

“You should know by now that whenever you talk back you get fired.”

Haizaki doesn’t bother replying and stretches out a hand, but only grabs thin air when he remembers Ishida confiscated his glass of alcohol. He scowls and curls his fists into balls, giving a glare at the bartender. Ishida isn’t fazed at all; he’s now way too much used to this scorn and nasty looks to be bothered at all.

Instead, Haizaki fishes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Ishida quickly gets hold of this as well, and before the younger one can throw a fit, he explains:

“No smoking allowed indoors. There’s a smoking spot at the corner of the street, but I don’t recommand you going there in your state.”

“Fuck you, Ishida.”

Ishida is only half surprised when Haizaki doesn’t try to pick a fight to get his pack back—maybe too tired, maybe resigned, maybe trusting. It only further proves that he really can’t figure out someone like this lost boy, who probably doesn’t know himself what he’s doing in life. Ishida looks at the people in the room, noticing in the corner of the eye that Haizaki dumped his head on his forearms. There is a soft chatter coming from the tables in the back, loud chuckling from the front ones, giggling and eye contacts all across the room. One or two persons drunk, and they’re only halfway through the night. Ishida decides that these people know what they are doing, contrary to the boy—man—he has to take care of.

Ishida shakes his head and pours a drink for a customer without as much as a look for them, and focuses on Haizaki once more.

“Either you talk to me, either you go home,” he indicates, mechanically wiping glasses.

Ishida has learnt throughout all these past months that picking Haizaki up is a minefield because he can react violently, but he has also learnt that being direct is the only way to get a honest reply.

Seconds fly by before Haizaki answers, head still buried in his arms.

“Life’s just shit.”

“I think I already knew that.”

“Well you’ll need to learn it from another point of view. I can n'ver get what I want.”

That’s nothing new, Ishida wanted to say, but he’s sure Haizaki knows it and he doesn’t need a vocal reminder. It probably hurts more than necessary—like the butt of a cigarette.

Ishida sighs.

“If so, why don’t you fight for it?” he suggests.

Haizaki lifts his head and looks at him with glassy eyes, but confusion and anger are all too present on his face.

“Fight for it? What the fuck? Think I haven’t been doin’ it for, like, all my life?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Ishida frowns.

“Sure as hell you do! You’re no better than anyone else. Always judging me and saying things you think I should or shouldn’t do. Why do you still care, anyway? Not tired of me yet? Bet you didn’t know I knew how you look at me. You’re one creepy ass, Ishida.”

Ishida’s throat goes dry, his breath catches but he can’t let it show. He has to keep a calm composure. This isn’t something out of the ordinary. He’s used to Haizaki’s jabs. He can control his racing heart, because he’s dealt with it before.

He sets the cup down gently and looks right into Haizaki’s eyes; his face doesn’t waver in the least.

“When you burst out like that, I’m wondering myself why I still bother,” he begins as calmly as possible. “But I care. I don’t give up, because you need help, Haizaki. And I happen to care for the people I like.”

Ishida notices the subtle change in Haizaki’s expression, the way his eyes don’t quite understand the feelings that just have been poured out, the way confusion changes into a frown. It makes his heart ache, his head spin, because he knows he’s going to get burnt. He knows he has reached his limit for tonight.

Haizaki breaks eye contact and slams his money on the counter. He gets up, trying to cover his wobbling, and heads to the exit. He ignores the people who stare at their exchange.

“You shouldn’t try so hard, man.”

Ishida wordlessly watches Haizaki’s retreating figure. It ends up way too often like this. He tries, oh _he tries so hard_ , like Haizaki said, and he can’t help it.

Picking up Haizaki is always a double-edged sword. One second it seems the right time to get through him, and the next his fire lights up anew to hurt.

Ishida absentmindedly tosses the pack of cigarettes up and down. A cigarette butt is the worst and best part of the cigarette—so close to getting burnt, people enjoy even more the taste.

Ishida plays with a dying fire he’s keeping alive.

**Author's Note:**

> In Japan smoking in the streets is prohibited, however there are spots a bit everywhere to allow smokers to smoke, but only /there/.


End file.
